


good for the soul

by mxchaelangelo



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Character Study, Doctor Leonard "Bones" McCoy, Growing Up, M/M, Pre-Relationship, Tarsus IV, Trigger Warning in the notes, takes place before the 2009 movie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-17
Updated: 2020-11-19
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:15:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 19,323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27069250
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mxchaelangelo/pseuds/mxchaelangelo
Summary: It's no one's fault, really, and that's maybe the worst part of it all. He's sad and he's angry without having anyone to be angry at, nowhere to put his anger down.He learns this at a very young age: accidents happen. People die all the time.You can't stop it, his father tells him. All you can do is try to soften the blow.(Leonard McCoy is twelve years old when he decides he wants to be a doctor.)
Relationships: James T. Kirk/Leonard "Bones" McCoy, Jocelyn McCoy/Leonard "Bones" McCoy, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Comments: 55
Kudos: 75





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> tw: blood, hospitals, mentioned minor character death, mentioned domestic violence, depression, alcoholism
>
>> "A little suffering is good for the soul."
> 
> (Star Trek: The Original Series, ‘The Corbomite Maneuver’)
> 
> tumblr @mxchaelangelo
> 
> spotify playlist  
> https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3i3DDj8HAO3qRX3cFoqaj2
> 
> we❤️it  
> https://weheartit.com/grant_r/collections/173352097-good-for-the-soul-mckirk-fic-aes

> "I couldn't help wondering, if that  
> was what God put me on Earth   
> for - to find out how much a  
> man could take without  
> breaking."

(Kurt Vonnegut, Breakfast of Champions)

* * *

_Federation vessel destroyed_

> Earlier this morning we have received the news about the destruction of a Federation vessel USS Kelvin. The ship under the command of Captain Richard Robau had been on a mission, operating 75,000 kilometers from the Federation-Klingon border, when they encountered what the surviving witnesses describe as “a lightning storm in space”. Soon after an unidentified vessel appeared, attacking Kelvin, which lead to a battle during which Captain Robau was killed, having been invited to the attacking ship under the pretense of negotiating a ceasefire. His first officer, George Kirk, assumed command.
> 
> The scans as well as the testimony of the surviving bridge crew confirm the enemy ship was equipped with highly advanced technology and weaponry and returning fire had no to minimal impact.
> 
> Enemy fire having destroyed Kelvin’s warp drive, Kirk gave the order to evacuate the ship while staying on board himself, to pilot the ship and to operate its weapons in order to protect the shuttlecraft from the enemy’s missiles.
> 
> Kirk then steered the ship to collide with the enemy vessel, giving the Kelvin crew a chance to escape. The evacuation had been successful. Over 800 crewmembers survived with the notable exception of Captain Robau and Lieutenant Commander George Kirk.

(…)

  
(J. Hansen, Washington Press, 2233.05)  
  


* * *

_Georgia 2233_

  
Leo is five years old.

He’s sitting perched on the armrest of the couch in their living room. He’s unaware of any of this happening, light years away from his own little world.

The spaceship grandpa Horatio got him for his birthday is still his favorite toy. It’s got glowing lights and _– get this_ – it makes those _whoosh_ noises when it goes into warp. Best gift ever.

Anyway – the sensors spot an enemy ship (the remote Leo found lying on the coffee table) surging up from behind a pile of pillows. It’s Klingons!

“This is the captain of the USS Hermes speaking,” Leo says, “You are in the Federation space. I order you to surrender and return to your territory.”

The Klingons don’t reply. Their ship keeps getting closer. Captain, they’re loading their weapons! _Shields up_ , the captain orders, _return_ _fire_.

Outside, a car pulls up into the driveway. Leo glances out of the window. His eyes go wide.

“Dad!” he shouts.

He jumps off the couch and runs to the front door. He almost bolts outside, when he remembers – shoes. Mum gets angry when he steps outside in his socks. He shoves his feet into his sneakers and reaches up for the door handle.

The cold outside air sends goosebumps down his back. The sun is hanging low, just above the horizon, stretching the shadows and bathing the world in a warm orange glow.

“Dad! Daddy!” Leo yells and laughs. He runs towards the man getting out of the car and barrels into his legs, hugging tight.

Daddy usually gets home late from work. Too many ill people and not enough doctors, he says. He still smells like the hospital.

“Hey there,” his dad laughs and ruffles his hair. Leo lifts his head but doesn’t let go.

“Where’s ma, Leo?”

“Kitchen.”

“Did she tell you what’s for dinner?” his dad asks and smiles when Leo shakes his head.

“Well, let’s go find out.”

He tries to move his legs but Leo doesn’t let go and giggles when his dad gives him a look.

“C’mon, Leo, you’re too heavy for that.”

Leo just grips his legs tighter. His dad sighs.

“Okay,” he says and Leo lets go. Dad bends down and grabs him under his arms. With an exaggerated groan, he lifts him off the ground and Leo laughs.

“What are they feedin' you, kid, bricks?”

  
Turns out, dad somehow got the weekend off. He announces that over the dinner, grinning at the surprised looks he gets.

“That would be a first,” mum raises an eyebrow at him but smiles anyway, “In that case - we can spend the weekend at your folks’ place. Your ma called.”

Leo drops his fork. “Yes, daddy,” he pleads, “Let’s go, please.”

Dad smiles at him. “Sure, why not,” he says, “Let’s go. Ma called? What did she want?”

“Said your brother is planetside and coming over tomorrow.”

“Really? I thought he was on that research station on…”

“Rigel 12, yeah, so did I,” mum shrugs and reaches for the potatoes, “They had to evacuate the area because of the Kelvin accident.”

He frowns. A moment of silence passes before he looks up again. He glances at Leo, as if he had just remembered he’s there, and smiles.

“Do you remember uncle Danny, Leo?” he asks.

Leo shakes his head.

“Well, not much of a surprise, he was off-planet for two years,” his dad muses.

Mum nudges Leo with her foot under the table and nods to the forgotten fork on his plate.

“Eat your veggies, young man.”

They eat in silence after that and Leo helps with the dishes. When it’s time to go to sleep he clings to dad’s legs again and begs for a bedtime story. He doesn’t get daddy every day and even though mum reads him stories too, dad makes it more fun.

Dad tells him to go brush his teeth, change into his pajamas, and pick a book.

“Come downstairs when you’re ready,” he says and pets his hair.

When he’s done, Leo takes his book, and with the stuffed lion he sleeps with tucked under his arm, he heads downstairs. He sticks his head into the living room to find his parents on the couch, watching the news. Or mum is watching, actually, dad seems to be fast asleep with his head resting on her shoulder. When mum spots Leo standing in the doorway, she nudges his dad with her elbow. He blinks his eyes open and frowns but she just smiles. He follows her gaze and when he sees Leo, he smiles too.

“Ready?” he asks. Leo nods.

When dad tucks him into bed, Leo reaches for the book next to him. It’s one of the few paper books they have. It’s old, read so many times and touched by so many hands it’s almost falling apart.

“Which one is it today?” his dad asks as he takes it from him. “ _The Little Prince_? Okay.”

He opens the book and turns the first page.

“You remember where we left off?” he frowns, “Because I don’t think I… Okay, got it.”

He runs a hand through his hair. He clears his throat and starts:

“The next planet was inhabited by a drunkard. This was a very short visit, but it made the little prince very sad.”

/

  
_"What are you doing there?" he said to the drunkard, whom he found settled down in silence before a collection of empty bottles and also a collection of full bottles._

_"I am drinking," replied the drunkard._

_"Why are you drinking?" demanded the little prince._

_"So that I may forget," replied the drunkard._

_"Forget what?" inquired the little prince, who already was sorry for him._

_"Forget that I am ashamed."_   
  


/

  
They’re boarding a shuttle to Calhoun the next day and Leo wants to sit next to the window. He kicks his legs back and forward and watches the people milling around the shuttle bay. His lion plushie is sitting on the seat next to him.

There’s a child crying somewhere in the back of the shuttlecraft.

“Your mum said Daniel’s girlfriend is going to be there,” he hears his mum say.

Dad is putting their bags onto the shelf overhead.

“Is she? I forgot her name. Kate? Clara?” he says. He sits down next to Leo and fumbles with the seatbelt. There are two rows of seats, each on one side of the shuttle. It’s almost full, they were lucky to find a place at all.

“It was Kayla, and no, they broke up some time ago, apparently.”

“Who’s this then?” he frowns.

“I have no idea,” mum laughs. Dad shakes his head and turns to Leo.

“Strapped in?” he asks. Leo nods.

The pilot’s muffled voice in the speakers informs them the shuttle is taking off. The engine hums. Leo presses his face to the cold window, his breath fogging the glass. They start moving towards the gate, leaving the platform and the people on the ground behind them. The light outside is so bright Leo has to close his eyes for a moment. When he opens them again, he watches the skyscrapers float by. He leans forward in an attempt to get a glimpse of the world below them. It never gets old.

“Leo, darlin’, sit down,” his mum scolds him.

He does. They keep getting higher and the shuttle engine is humming softly in the background – until it isn’t. There’s a quiet hiccup and then a loud crack. It feels just like the moment before the roller coaster drops into a dive.

“David!”

The world turns upside down.

* * *

  
When Leo wakes up, he doesn’t know where he is. The ceiling above him is unfamiliar, stark white plastic and steel. There’s something stinging in his left arm, itching under his skin, but when he wants to scratch it, he finds his limbs too heavy to move. It’s hard to keep his eyes open. He drifts off again.

When he opens his eyes again, it’s dark. The air smells familiar, clean, and fresh. He can hear someone talking but it’s muffled as if coming from another room. He feels more awake now, enough to realize he was somewhere else just a moment ago.

One by one, the memories start surfacing from the fog in his head.

_David!_

Leo is five, alone, in a dark room he doesn’t recognize. His mommy was screaming.

His lower lip begins to tremble. The heart monitor next to his bed starts beeping rapidly and the voices behind the door stop.

The air smells like daddy when he comes home from work.

“Mommy? Dad?” he calls out. His throat hurts.

The lights flicker on and it feels like bleach in his eyes. A nurse rushes into the room and stops in the doorway.

“Lights 50%,” she orders, and the lights go dim. Leo blinks a few times and tries to sit up. The nurse is at his bedside in a moment.

“Shh, don’t,” she says and pushes him back down with a gentle hand on his shoulder. He goes obediently, mostly because he’s too tired to put up a fight. Leo feels her warm fingers on his forehead as she smoothes his hair. He opens his eyes; he must have closed them again without realizing it.

“Where’s –“ he starts but stops when his throat closes up. He tries to swallow but his mouth is dry like sandpaper. He feels something cold pressing against his lips – the nurse is holding a cup of water to his mouth. He takes a sip.

“Where’s dad?” he tries again.

She seems to hesitate for a moment.

“There was an accident,” she tells him.

* * *

Years later, Leo doesn’t remember much from the funeral or the days that follow. Everyone’s walking on eggshells around him. They’re all trying to cheer him up and he’s too young to pretend it works.

The house feels too empty without mum around. They sell it and move to the old McCoys’ house, so that his grandparents can watch him. Dad spends more time at home with Leo these days, probably to make it up to him. Truth is, nothing can, but that’s not his fault.

It’s no one’s fault, really, and that’s maybe the worst part. Leo is sad and he’s angry without having anyone to be angry at, nowhere to put his anger down. (He learns this at a very young age; accidents happen. People die all the time. You can’t stop it, dad tells him, all you can do is try to soften the blow.)

Years go by and he doesn’t forget, but the memories, blurry to start with, turn pale. He still can’t step into a shuttle and he will always be afraid of heights.

(You can’t stop it, his father tells him. They’re sitting at the kitchen table. It's 4 a.m. - he just got home from a graveyard shift at the hospital. His eyes are red and he looks tired; it’s the kind of bone-deep tired sleep doesn’t fix.

You can’t stop it, he says. All you can do is try to soften the blow.)

Leo is 12 when he decides he wants to be a doctor.  
  


* * *

_Iowa, 2245_

Jim is 12 years old and mum is off-planet again.

It happens every time she goes, but this time she’s been gone for almost a year and it’s bad.

Sam is four years older than him and Frank hates him.

( _He doesn’t hate you_ , mum says. _It’s just… it can be a lot to deal with, you and Sam, sometimes_.)

Jim caught him at the front door, putting his shoes on. It’s Saturday and it’s still dark outside. It’s too early to be up; Jim only woke up when he heard footsteps in the hallway. They were too light to be Frank’s. Jim could recognize him blind, just by the sound of his clumsy, drunk feet stumbling on the stairs. He waits and then gets up to follow the footsteps downstairs.

It’s Sam.

“Where are you going?” Jim whispers.

“As far as I can get,” he says and reaches for the backpack on the floor. He goes and Jim follows him outside, still in his sleep clothes. The grass is cold and wet under his bare feet. The sky above them is just beginning to turn from black to blue. Around them, the world is still. They’re in the middle of nothing, not a soul to hear, only acres and acres of corn stretching as far as he can see.

“Please, don’t go,” Jim begs. Sam doesn’t seem to hear him. He strides to the fence gate and grabs the handle.

“Please, don’t leave!”

“Shhh, Jimmy!” Sam hisses and grabs him by the shoulders. He watches the front door as if Frank is going to bolt outside any moment.

“Quiet, don’t wake him up,” Sam frowns and shakes him a little.

“Don’t go,” Jim whimpers, tugging on his brother’s sleeves.

“I can’t take it anymore,” he says and tries to shake him off, “Mum has no idea what he’s like when she’s not around.”

“Don’t go.”

“I’m sorry,” Sam shakes his head. Jim grabs at him again but Sam catches his hand and squeezes it.

“I’m sorry,” he repeats. Jim tries to keep quiet but he can’t stop the hot tears rolling down his cheeks. Sam crouches in front of him. He’s taller than Jim; he’s going to be tall just like their dad was.

“You’re gonna be fine. You always are,” he says, “Just be good, do what he says, you’ll be alright.”

Jim can’t speak. He keeps his mouth shut to be quiet and his shoulders shake. Sam looks at him, but his eyes keep twitching back to the house.

He gets up and reaches for the gate.

“I’ll see you,” he says and never does.  
  


/

Sam was right about one thing, Jim figures out. 

It’s almost midnight and he’s sitting on the barn roof. He’s looking at the stars. In the distance on the highway, he can see the headlights of cars passing by even though it’s too dark to see the road itself. There’s the bus stop he would walk to every day when he goes to school. They used to go together before Sam left and played games on the way there – _race you there_ , Sam would yell and break into a run. (Jim never wins.)

Downstairs he can hear Frank looking for him, slamming doors, getting angrier every minute. He’ll find him, eventually, because Sam was right. It’s not enough. It will never be enough and it doesn’t matter what Jim does, Frank will always find a reason to hit him again.

It’s been two months since Sam left. Jim isn’t angry anymore; he gets it now. Without his older brother around for Frank to take it out on, there’s no one to shield him from his stepdad’s drunk meltdowns.

 _It doesn’t matter what I do_ , Sam told him once and he was right. Frank doesn’t care if he does his homework and gets good grades or whether Jim washes his car just like he told him. If anything, it irritates him even more, because then he has to find an excuse himself.

“You can’t hide forever, Jimmy,” Frank yells. He sounds drunk. And it’s true; sooner or later he will find him, because it will never be enough. Nowhere is far enough.

“This is my house. Not your mother’s – mine, and if you think you can steal my shit and get away with it, I got some news for you, Jimmy.”

He’s getting louder; or maybe closer.

Jim is looking at the stars.

/

When it doesn’t matter what you do, when your actions have no impact on the consequences, he figures out, you might as well misbehave.

Jim does. He drives the car off a cliff and that seems to be the last straw.

(Years later he finds out it wasn’t even Frank’s car; it was George’s. Jim doesn’t regret it then either, because he’d rather see it at the bottom of the canyon than have Frank sitting behind the wheel.)

The look Frank gives him when he gets to the police station is positively furious. His hands tremble with barely contained anger, with the need to hit something – someone – but he balls them into fists at his sides as he talks to the officer at the front desk. They don’t let him take Jim home. Despite everything, he’s not his parent or legal representative; Winona Kirk is. They send her a subspace message but it will take a while for her to get here. Frank leaves, though not without causing a scene first, but there’s nothing he can do. It’s strange, seeing him this powerless.

Jim spends the night at the police station. He sleeps on one of the benches in the backroom; they probably can’t bring themselves to put a kid in a cell. Someone even gives him a blanket.

He wakes up with a gentle hand on his shoulder.

  
“Jim?”

They say the first thing you forget about someone is their voice. He finds this to be true – this woman’s voice is one he almost doesn’t recognize, not until he sighs and turns around.

She’s still in her science blues. She’s looking at him with a mix of grief and disbelief as she takes in his bruised face. Years later Jim would realize that it might go both ways – maybe she began to forget too.

“Mom?”

She hugs him and it feels like touching a stranger.


	2. Chapter 2

_Georgia 2245_

Leo gets his acceptance letter to medical school. He’s shaking with excitement, giddy with it, and he runs downstairs, PADD in hand, ready to tell everyone the news. His grandma cries and hugs him so tight she might have broken a rib or two. They’re all so damn proud of him and no one more than David McCoy himself.

* * *

In September, dad helps him pack and drives him to the dorms. It’s almost a six hours long ride. They could save some time taking a shuttle but neither of them even mentions it.

They are standing in front of the dorm building about to say goodbye. His dad turns around and puts his hands on Leo’s shoulders. (Leonard was already taller than him, taking after grandpa Horatio, and he still wasn’t done growing.)

His dad looks at him and smiles. His eyes are swelling with pride.

“You’ll be a damn good doctor, Leo,” he says.  
  


* * *

So here he is. It happened just a few weeks ago but it feels like a lifetime.

It’s his first year at Ole Miss and Leonard is 2 years younger than most of his classmates.

He’s rooming with two other kids from his class, Ian and Thomas. After two weeks of yelling he gives up on having a clean room ever again. Few months later he doesn’t even remember the last time he’s seen the carpet (or what color it even was, to begin with). Ian snores and leaves empty coffee mugs on every available surface. His mum calls him three times a week. Tom somehow sneaks his girlfriends, boyfriends, and everything-in-between-friends into their dorm room, usually without asking or even telling his roommates, which more than once resulted in Leonard and Ian studying or sleeping in the hallway. He’s loud, smart, a total pain in the ass and he seems to never sleep, but on the rare occasions he does, he snores too.

For the first time since middle school, Leonard actually makes some friends.

He wouldn’t call it the best years of his life, but it’s pretty close. It’s the happiest he’s been in a long time.

* * *

  
It was, of all places, a party Tommy dragged them to. It was after finals and they wanted to celebrate. (Or Tommy wanted to. Ian, whom his boyfriend dumped two weeks ago, was in it for the free booze.) Leonard, well, he didn't know why he was there. He didn't know any of these people. He didn't know many people apart from their classmates, unlike Tommy. Tommy knew everyone and he was friends with everyone. It’s no surprise when he leaves them almost as soon as they arrive to say hello to someone on the other side of the room. Ian heads straight for the bar.

Leonard just sighs and follows him, stumbling through the crowd of sweaty, drunk bodies. Someone has to make sure the kid doesn't give himself alcohol poisoning.

That was two hours ago. As the evening goes on, everyone gets progressively drunker and louder. Leo starts to regret agreeing to drive them back to the dorms. He's nursing his own (alcohol-free) beer and the loud music is starting to give him a headache. There's a drunk couple sprawled on the couch next to him, making out and quickly getting past what's considered PG-rated. Leo gets up.

He scans the crowd for Ian. He was sitting on a barstool at the kitchen counter just a moment ago. Leonard curses. He's lost him. He goes looking for Tommy but he's nowhere to be found and asking around doesn't help either. Ian's not in the kitchen or the living room or any of the rooms upstairs. Leo squeezes past an affectionate couple on the stairway and leans against a nearby wall. He rubs his eyes and swallows, trying to get rid of the ringing in his ears, but it's useless.

"Hey, is this your friend?"

He blinks his eyes open. There's a girl standing in front of him, with a very, very drunk Ian leaning against her small frame.

"Jesus, man," Leo hisses and grabs him by the shoulders, "Where the hell were you? Been looking for you for like half an hour."

Ian looks at him or at least squints in his general direction and blinks owlishly. He seems to have lost his glasses somewhere. His face does something strange. He bends over and throws up at Leonard's shoes.

"For fuck’s sake!" Leo curses and tries to catch Ian before he collapses on the ground. Only then he realizes the girl is still there, holding his idiot friend upright. He would feel bad for cursing in front of her but right now he has more pressing matters at hand.

"Hey, uh," he clears his throat, "Do you know where's the bathroom?"

"This way," she nods and they stumble upstairs, each on one side of Ian's limp body. He throws up once again before they get there. It feels like an eternity but eventually, all three of them collapse on the bathroom floor.

"How much did he have?" Leo asks her.

"I don't know," she shrugs, "I found him in the backyard."

"Jesus," he shakes his head and looks at his friend. Ian's head is bent over the toilet, his hands gripping the sides. He's going to have one hell of a hangover tomorrow and it serves him well.

People are talking and laughing outside in the hallway, muffled by the loud music.

"So," the girl says after a while, "I guess you're Leonard, then."

He looks up from where he's rubbing his friend's back and _actually looks at her_ for the first time. She's pretty, with the long auburn hair and warm brown eyes. She can't be much older than him. He has no idea who she is but there's something contagious about her smile.

"Yeah," he smirks. He extends his right hand above Ian's head. "Leonard McCoy."

"Jocelyn," she laughs and shakes his hand, "Jocelyn Darnell."

Ian gags and groans.

They sit in silence for a moment before Jocelyn speaks again.

"What are you doing here, anyway?"

Leo frowns. "Come again?"

"I mean, the party," she explains, "Are you a friend of Katie's?"

He has no idea who Katie is.

"I know Tommy," he tells her.

"Who doesn't?" she smirks and he has to smile too. Fair enough.

"I'm his roommate," he adds and gestures to Ian's limp frame, "We both are, actually."

"Jesus," Jocelyn laughs, "That has to be... Interesting."

"You have no idea."

He likes her. They sit on the bathroom floor, talk and laugh; she has a nice laugh.

"What do you study?"

"Medicine. You?"

"Law."

He finds out she's in her second year in university, she's 3 years older than him and that this is her best friend's house. She's only here for the weekend, her school and parents are in Oxford. She's done with her exams for now and will be going back tomorrow.

They flush the toilet and help Ian sit on the edge of the tub. Leo is just wiping his friend's chin with a wet towel when the door bursts open.

"Oh, thank god," Tommy exclaims, "where the hell were you?"

"Me? Where were _you_?" Leo shoots back. Tommy is leaning against the doorframe and it's clear he's not sober but he's nowhere near the state Ian's in.

"Help me with this idiot," Leo nods to his friend and they pick him up.

"I got him," Tommy says, "Get cleaned up. We'll meet you outside."

Leo looks down at his vomit stained shirt and nods. He reaches for the tap to try and rinse it off when Jocelyn speaks up. He almost forgot about her.

"Hold on, I will ask Katie for some clean clothes," she says and turns to leave.

"No, it's-" he shakes his head, "it's fine, I left a hoodie in the car."

She stops in the doorway and smiles. He thinks about it; it's not the most romantic moment. He smells like cheap booze and sweat and looks like fresh shit.

But hey, doesn't hurt to ask. He shoots his shot.

"Is there a chance I could see you again?"

Jocelyn gives him her comm number.

* * *

  
_Iowa 2245_

After the car accident, mum drives him back home from the police station. Frank is waiting for them on the front porch when they get there. The moment Jim sees him standing there, a cold feeling of dread washes over him. Winona turns around to look at him and frowns.

“Jim?” she asks, “What is it?”

He doesn’t reply. He can’t move. He’s frozen like deer in the headlights and keeps staring at the nightmare his life is about to turn into when his mum leaves again. He miscalculated this. She must see something in his face, because she looks back and forth between Jim and her husband – once, before the frown disappears from her face. They get out of the car.

She tells him to pack his things.

Frank keeps following them around the house and he keeps talking and yelling and gesturing. Jim’s mum doesn’t spare him a single glance. Frank follows them outside and to the car where Winona sits Jim down and slams the door shut behind him. She turns around to face Frank and tells him something. Jim doesn’t hear what it is. He spends the rest of his life wondering what it was that made Frank look so scared.

They’re leaving and Jim turns around in his seat. He grips the backpack in his lap, and twists his neck to look as their old house with Frank in the driveway disappears in the distance.

There’s a shuttle waiting for them in Davenport. It’s Jim’s first time in space – unless you’re counting Kelvin, and Kelvin doesn’t count. He tries to stretch his neck to catch a glimpse of stars in the window from where he’s sitting. The jump to warp feels like a shove in the chest, pushing him back into his seat. Jim lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding.

He looks up at his mum but she’s staring at the PADD in her lap. She doesn’t meet his gaze; the smile she gives him is weak and doesn’t quite reach her eyes.  
  


* * *

  
Tarsus IV is a farming colony.

The weather is warmer than Iowa, but Jim finds out he doesn’t mind. He’s grown up in Midwest, used to the endless skies stretching from horizon to horizon, and he sees mountains for the first time in his life. It’s overwhelming; it’s just so big he can’t wrap his mind around it at first. He gets used to it, just like he gets used to the heat.

The Davis side of the family, Uncle Andrew and Aunt Betty, moved here ten years ago and bought a farm. It’s the first time Jim learns about their existence. He wonders if there are any other relatives he doesn’t know about.

Mum stays for a week but then she’s gone again, off to the stars. She tries to talk to him but there’s always this awkward, tense silence in the air. She still can’t look him in the eyes but her touch feels more familiar now. Jim lives for the rare occasions she reaches out to brush the hair out of his eyes or strokes his cheek. He realizes he missed her; he missed her for so long he forgot about it. He thaws in her presence, melts with her affection, and soaks it up.

As he’s standing there in the docks, watching her shuttle turn into a black dot in the sky, Jim comes to a simple realization.

He hates Starfleet.

They give him the spare guest room in the attic. It’s small, but that’s not much of a problem when all his possessions fit into a backpack. There’s a window with a nice view that actually seems familiar – acres of crops stretching as far as he can see, only this time it’s wheat, not corn. When he crawls out of his window on the roof at night, he’s looking at a sky he doesn’t recognize. He doesn’t know any of these constellations or whether anyone ever bothered to give them names.

He misses his mum. Her absence hurts, it turns into a deep, ever-present ache in his bones. He gets used to it too.

They’re nice to him. For a while he’s wary, waiting for the other shoe to drop, because it’s never this easy. Eventually, though, he begins to realize that maybe, just maybe, this time it will be alright.  
  



	3. Chapter 3

> _Tarsus IV was a Federation agricultural colony founded by Earth-Romulan War veterans in the late 22nd century. By the year 2240, Tarsus IV was home to 8,000 inhabitants with a significant part of the population being comprised of colonists that had been evacuated from Epsilon Sorona II._
> 
> _In the year 2246, a mutagenic virus struck the crop plants being grown on the planet's surface and destroyed most of the colony's food supply, leaving the colonists in danger of starvation. Following a series of revolts during the fall of 2246, a successful attempt to overthrow the local government had taken place. Leader of the rebels, going under the name Kodos, proclaimed himself a governor and declared martial law. After gathering all the remaining food reserves it soon became clear that even with a Federation supply ship on its way to Tarsus, there was barely enough food for 4,000 colonists. Kodos, implementing his own personal theories of eugenics, selected four thousand of the colony's residents to be put to death, so that the remaining half might survive on the limited food supplies available._

(…)

(Fleming, David. Federation History. New York, Freeman & Burns, 2251)

* * *

_Tarsus, 2246_

They catch Jim stealing food.

He’s not even stealing to feed himself. If it was just him, he wouldn’t take the risk. There’s a group of starving kids hiding in what’s left of the old Davis barn and they’re too small to understand and they shiver with cold every night. _(No one ever talks about this, but that’s what hunger does to you; you’re cold, so cold, all the time._ )

They almost get away with it. It was a stupid mistake, really, he just wasn’t careful enough. _Should have waited ‘till it was dark_ , he thinks bitterly. They’re crawling out of the warehouse window, when the patrol spots them. They split; he hopes Kevin got away.

Jim was just about to jump over the wire fence when a strong hand grabs his collar and yanks him back. He lands on his back in the dirt and it punches all the air out of his lungs. There are two of them. They grab him and grope him, searching through his pockets and Jim is stupid enough to fight back. He kicks and screams and bites the tall one’s hand, hard enough to taste blood.

They kick him until he stops moving, stops screaming and gasping for air. He must have passed out for a second because when he opens his eyes again, they’re gone. _They probably thought I’m dead._

To be fair, he might not be far from it.

He has no idea how long he’s laid there like that. He licks his lips – the blood on his face has already dried into a dark brown crust. Breathing hurts. (He’s had bruised ribs before but this time they’re definitely broken.) He tries to sit up but finds out he can’t. He lets his head drop back onto the ground.

He’s tired, so damn tired. There are black spots swimming in the corners of his vision. It’s like falling asleep; eyelids growing heavy, he can feel it pulling him under. Right then Jim thinks – this is it.

He lies there like that for god knows how long, hungry, bruised, and sore, looking at the sky. The sun seeps into his skin.

It’s a shame, really – it’s a beautiful day.

It’s not fair, he thinks. It just isn’t fair, none of this, not this, not Frank, and suddenly, he no longer feels numb. He’s angry. He’s absolutely _furious_ about the whole thing, because _it’s not fair_. He won’t let them have this. He won’t let them win.

Jim thinks: _I’m not going to die here_.

He gets up.

* * *

  
How could this happen?

* * *

  
First officer Christopher Pike is there with the landing party when they beam down to start the evacuation.

They come out of warp and send a subspace message to the planet, asking for a location to beam down supplies and meet the colony leaders. There’s no reply. Even years later, Pike remembers the exact moment the air changed – the moment they realized something is wrong.

They try again. The captain shifts in his chair and frowns.

“Kowalski, open the channel,” he says.

“This is Captain Robert April of the federation starship Endeavor, Tarsus, do you copy?”

Nothing.

“This is USS Endeavor, Tarsus, do you copy?”

Lieutenant Commander Pike clears his throat. “Life signs?” he turns to the science officer on his left.

_Are we too late?_

“Yes, sir. Ship sensors showing over three thousand biosignatures.”

April swivels in the captain’s chair to look at them.

“How many?” he asks.

“Three thousand, six hundred and forty-one, sir,” the officer replies.

Pike meets the captain’s eye. They both know. There’s supposed to be eight thousand colonists on Tarsus IV.

* * *

Eventually, the pieces of the puzzle start to form a terrible picture.

The survivors they find remind him of the grainy old black and white photographs from history books. They’re all so thin and hollow – the hollow cheeks and empty eyes, devoid of any life, they’re more ghosts than people. Most of them don’t talk. What they find out from those who do, sends chills down Pike's spine.

_How could this happen?_

_Four thousand_. Four thousand men, women, and children, executed. When the USS Endeavor appeared in orbit and hailed them, the rebels who lead the uprising set the city hall on fire and fled.

They beam down food, supplies, and medical personnel to tend to the colonists. They beam up aboard the ship those, who would need more specific treatment in the medbay.

The ship sensors pick up on several life signs in the city outskirts. They go looking and find more survivors, hiding in the forest and the ruins of old factories. It's the children - that's the worst part of it all, the children that survived. 

* * *

  
When Pike gets off shift, he spends an hour staring at the ceiling above his bunk before he makes peace with the fact that he’s not getting any sleep tonight. He gets up and dresses again. He ends up wandering the ship corridors aimlessly and everyone he passes by has the same shaken look on their face. What they’ve seen today has taken a toll on the crew.

_How could we let this happen?_

He needs a drink. Any other time he would go to Boyce. The good doctor was always willing to offer his advice, a helping hand, a listening ear, or some whiskey, on the rare occasions neither of these would help. Not tonight, though. He’s busy – even with the all extra personnel on board, they’re ill-equipped to handle a situation like this one.

Pike finds himself standing in the medbay anyway. It’s quieter now, with the gamma shift in full swing. The lights are dimmed; the ship is trying to simulate the day and night rhythm without a real sun. The doctors and nurses look tired. Someone is sobbing at the nurses’ station. Pike is on his way to the CMO’s office when something catches his eye.

It’s that kid.

It was Pike’s landing party that found him limping up the hill on his way to the city. He runs when he sees them, just like most of the other kids do. Pike doesn't even want to think about what had to happen to them to make them so terrified of adults.

Pike looks at him through the glass window. Now stripped down to a hospital gown and lying in a biobed the boy looks so small and too skinny. He’s all sharp edges and bony elbows, bruised black and blue.

Pike remembers his face – the sharp jaw, the dark brows. He’ll probably never forget. There was something haunted in those pale blue eyes. It’s a face he would keep seeing in his dreams.

As lost in thought as he is, he doesn’t notice the figure standing by his side.

“You looking for me, Chris?”

Pike doesn’t take his eyes off the limp body in the biobed.

“How is he, doctor?”

"Not good,” Boyce says, “He came to in the transporter room, tried to fight the doctors. We had to sedate him.”

“God,” Pike breathes out. That boy shouldn’t be able to hold himself upright, much less have the strength to _fight_ anybody.

“He has one of the lowest BMI's I’ve ever seen,” the doctor continues, “He's severely malnourished, just like everyone else, his heart muscle almost gave out once we got him here. We had to give him an IV nutrient infusion. He throws up everything we give him – along with the worst allergic reaction I’ve seen since medical school."

When Pike doesn’t reply, he pats him on the shoulder and says: “You should be sleeping. Want me to give you something for that?”

“No,” he shakes his head without looking at him, “No, I’m fine.”

Boyce doesn’t seem convinced but he doesn’t push.

Pike is about to turn and leave, when something catches his eye. His look lands on a datapad with the patient chart next to the biobed. They went through the colony resident registry to identify the survivors. Pike was there to help with the process, assigning names to faces and writing to their families.

  
_Kirk, James T._   
  


* * *

There’s plenty of work to be done in the days that follow. It’s been only 48 hours since their arrival and the crew is already starting to show signs of exhaustion – no one more than the medical staff, maybe except for the captain himself. The admiralty wants regular updates on the situation, only to be in turn questioned by the press. They are all keenly aware that what happened here on Tarsus is about to become a political shit-storm of the century. Many questions remain to be answered and some might have no answer at all.

_How could this happen?_

_Who is going to be responsible for this?_

_What is about to happen next?_

The USS Endeavor really is ill-equipped to handle the situation at hand. Upon receiving a distress signal from the colony, Starfleet was under the impression that the uprising on Tarsus was purely political in nature. Had they known about the humanitarian catastrophe they’re dealing with, they would have sent more than just one ship.

It was a coincidence that the Endeavor was orbiting a planet in a nearby star system. They are a science vessel; the crew largely consists of science officers and engineers. They have minimal medbay crew. It's more than sufficient to care for the eight hundred healthy Starfleet officers on board, but not enough to treat more than three thousand famine survivors, not even close.

Despite everything, Pike knows they were lucky – lucky to be there at all, less than a day from Tarsus IV. God knows how many more lives would have been lost if they got here any later.

As they are, they have 21 medical officers (eight fully trained doctors, twelve nurses, and a single overworked psychologist) working day and night, split between the medbay, where they treat the worst cases, and the provisionary medical station they set up down on the planet surface, for everyone else.

There are two more Federation vessels on their way and, curiously, so is a ship from Vulcan.

With captain April as busy as he is, it’s Pike in the chair most of the time, sharing his duties. When someone dies on a spaceship, it’s usually the captain writing a condolence letter to the family. There’s no time for things like that now. With more than four thousand confirmed dead and three hundred missing, Pike is sending out a simple, short subspace to everyone waiting to hear from their relatives on Tarsus. When he mentions this to Boyce that evening, the doctor only sighs and nods. The exhaustion makes him look much older than he is.

“I’ve signed more death certificates in the past two days,” Boyce tells him, “Than in my whole career.”

They are sitting in the CMO’s office. They’re both supposed to be off shift for the next eight hours. Under the current circumstances, the doctor can’t afford more than a 20-minute break.

“I remember every single person to die under my hands, Chris,” he says softly. He lifts his eyes to look Pike in the eye. “And now there’s so many bodies we run out of body bags.”

The words hang in the air for a while.

“How’s the kid?” Pike asks.

Boyce frowns and then closes his eyes. “He’s – stabilized. Unresponsive.”

“You mean – ?”

“Well, he’s doing better, physically,” the doctor shrugs, “But he’s not talking. Katherine tried to talk to him, but he just sat there, didn’t even look at her, didn’t say anything. Nothing wrong with his hearing or his brain, we checked.”

There’s a knock on the door and the break is over. Boyce gets up and as Pike passes him on his way out, he reaches out to pat him on the back. He heads to his quarters.

He thinks about the boy.

He thinks about George Kirk.

They met, years ago, at the Academy. Pike didn’t know him well enough to call Kirk a friend, not exactly. He was four years older than George, who was still a cadet back then. He had the opportunity to teach Kirk in his senior year, as a TA in professor Hänleine’s class. You didn’t need to know about his test scores to see how brilliant Kirk was.

Pike had friends serving on USS Kelvin. Some of them survived – thanks to the sacrifice George Kirk had made.

_James T. Kirk_

Growing up without a father must have been tough, and now – _this_. God. The boy probably saw more at – what, _fifteen_? – than most people would in a lifetime.

_How the hell did he even get here?_

The Starfleet personnel database tells Pike Winona Kirk is still in active service. Stationed aboard USS Kepler, CSO Lieutenant Kirk, on a five-year mission in uncharted space.

Looking at the file on his PADD Pike realizes, this far away, she might not even know about what’s happening.

He pulls out his comm.


	4. Chapter 4

_Georgia 2250_

They were happy.

Even years later, if you asked him, Leonard would still say the same thing: back then, despite everything, they were happy, at least for a little while.

Falling in love with Jocelyn is not a one-time event, he finds out. They grow together, they get to know each other on a deep, intimate level and he gets more smitten every day. It never gets old, waking up next to her.

It’s his fourth year in university and after graduation, he asks Jocelyn to marry him. He was so damn nervous back then, so young and stupid in love with her. He stutters and she laughs, hand covering her mouth, eyes wide when he gets on one knee. His hands don’t shake when he slips the ring on her finger – his hands never shake.

His folks love Joss, because of course they do. She’s whip-smart and funny and _perfect_. More than once he would catch her sharing a knowing look with his gran but when he asks Jocelyn what it is all about, she just laughs and kisses him.

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” she says. They visit as often as they can.

Her parents were never that fond of Leonard. While his own family isn’t that bad off either, the Darnells are the exact kind of rich people his pa hates. They all look down at him, but it’s her father in particular who, Leonard suspects, thinks his little girl could do better.

The wedding is a small event, with just their families and closest friends. Ian, thanks to whom they met, is Leonard's best man. _(“Seriously, we have to come up with a better story.”)_

They make a pretty couple, his grandma said, and he has to agree. Jocelyn was so damn beautiful that day, red hair framing her freckled face, smiling so damn sweet, he almost fainted at the altar. He wishes his mama lived to see that day.

Once the honeymoon is over, they go back to their normal lives. They move to Georgia together, find a nice flat, one he would never be able to afford weren’t it for her parents’ money. He’s grateful, though, grateful enough to pretend it doesn’t hurt his ego at all.

Joss graduated three years ago. By the time they tie the knot, she’s already working for her father's lawyer company. Between her job and his long shifts at the Atlanta General ER, they don't spend as much time together as they used to.

That's when it started, he later realizes – the first crack in their relationship.

Still, they try to make it work.

It's their first anniversary Leonard misses because of work. It’s a quiet shift, actually, even though no one would dare to say it out loud. For all the science and evidence-based thinking, working in a hospital made Leo surprisingly superstitious. Early on during his residency, he finds out you’re not supposed to use the q word anywhere near the Emergency Department. Immediate jinx. Nothing made the ER staff more nervous than a clueless intern dropping the q word. It happened to Leonard too, back in medical school, and the resident took him aside.

“You’re not supposed to say things like that in here. If it’s not busy, _just shut up and be thankful_.”

Someone, somewhere, must have said the q word today. Just as he had been about to get off shift, leaning against the desk at the nurses' station, chatting with the other residents from trauma, when they got the call. He leaves the operating room three hours later and checks his comm – two missed calls from Joss. He curses and rushes home.

“I’m sorry,” Leonard breathes out, standing in the doorway.

He finds Joss sitting at the kitchen counter, PADD in one hand, the comm still open on the table in front of her. She looks tired. He checks the time – _dammit_. She was waiting up for him.

“I’m so sorry,” he repeats and closes the door. He drops the bag with his dirty scrubs on the floor. Only then he notices the dress she’s wearing – it’s the blue ones he likes. He checks his chrono again. It’s their anniversary.

He runs his hand through his hair. “God, Joss, I’m so so–“

She cuts him off.

“It’s–” she shakes her head, “Just missed you.”

He stands there, scratching his neck like an idiot. His exhausted brain can’t come up with anything else to say to that. Jocelyn must know – she always knows, somehow, what’s going on inside his head – because she smiles and reaches out. Yeah, he can work with that. He hugs her, tight, and she wraps her arms around his waist. Leonard holds her close, aware that he probably still smells like the hospital. He lets his face drop to her hair.

“I’ll make it up to you,” he whispers.

“Later,” Joss sighs. She doesn’t pretend it’s okay or that she’s not sad. He likes that about her – he’s a doctor, not a mind-reader.

Jocelyn pulls away a little to look at him.

“You look like shit, Leo,” she says.

It’s so unexpected and so much her he has to laugh.

“Sure feel like it,” he grins.

“You hungry? I made dinner.”

“No,” he shakes his head, “No, just… Let’s go to bed.”

Leonard takes a quick shower - he hates it when the sheets smell like disinfectant. When he walks into the bedroom, Joss is already in bed. He’s almost sleeping on his feet when he collapses on the mattress next to her.

“Long day?” she asks. He can’t bring himself to open his eyes but when she strokes his cheek Leonard blindly reaches for her hand.

“Yeah,” he says and presses a soft kiss onto her knuckles. He’s already drifting off when she cuddles up to him. It’s more of a muscle memory than a conscious decision when he wraps an arm around her small waist and pulls her closer.

* * *

What he promised to be an exception soon becomes a regular occurrence. It’s just like his dad said: too many ill people and not enough doctors. Leonard would correct that statement: _too many stupid people and not enough doctors_. It’s only during his years working in the ER that he gets to appreciate the full range and glory of human stupidity.

“It was an accident, doctor,” they say. It almost causes him physical pain to keep himself from rolling his eyes. _Yeah, I guess you wouldn’t give yourself third-degree burns on purpose_.

Few months and a million _I’m so sorry_ texts later, he comes home to find the lights already off and Joss in the bedroom waiting for him. She must have been reading just a moment ago, as the PADD in her lap illuminates her face with a soft blue glow. He shrugs off his jacket, toes off his shoes, and falls face-first into bed.

“Hey there,” she greets him.

“Mfhn.”

“Bad day?”

Leonard lifts his head from the pillow to look at her.

“Is your dad still hiring?” he asks.

Jocelyn laughs.

* * *

  
_2251_

  
Her name is Jenny.

Leonard is talking to his friend, Dan from pediatrics. When he’s lucky enough to take a break, they would meet for lunch in the cafeteria with the other younger residents. They chat and share gossip or complain about clumsy interns, even though they were in their place just a few years ago. Today Leonard followed him upstairs, too caught up in their conversation to pay much attention to the surroundings. With the Atlanta children’s hospital building under reconstruction, other facilities agreed to split the patients between them. Dan has been complaining about the increased workload for weeks now.

“And he tells me ‘I fell on it, doctor’,” Leonard gestures as he recounts the story of his first _foreign object stuck in a body orifice_ of the week. “And I ask him how, _exactly_ , do you fall on a projector remote in a way it gets stuck in your –“

“Hey, doc.”

They stop. Dan turns around and smiles.

The girl can’t be more than ten years old. She’s sitting in a wheelchair next to the nurse’s station. She waves and grins, when Dan heads in her direction. Curious, Leonard follows him.

“Hello, Miss,” Dan greets her and sits down on the bench next to her. “How’s the PT going?”

“It’s alright,” she shrugs. She’s very pale – so pale Leonard wonders if she’s even human. There’s an IV tube taped to her arm and a nose cannula on her face. She’s very skinny. With that light blonde hair, she looks like a little angel in a hospital gown. She’s not wearing any shoes. Looking at the bruised bony knees poking out from below the blue fabric, Leonard thinks she must be cold.

He doesn’t realize he’s staring until her bright blue eyes land on him. Dan stops mid-sentence to glance at Leonard.

“Yeah, sorry –” he clears his throat, “– Jenny? This is Leo. Leonard, this is Jenny.”

“Nice to meet you,” Jenny grins and extends her hand. He takes it.

“Nice to meet you too, Miss,” he nods. His hand looks strangely big compared to hers.

“You’re a doctor like Dan?” she asks.

“Yeah, I am, I’m a surgeon,” he smiles.

“I haven’t seen you around here yet.”

“That’s ‘cause Leo is grown-up’s doctor,” Dan says, “He works downstairs, in the Emergency Department.”

He’s cut off by a nurse in a pair of pink scrubs.

“Alright, sunshine, time for PT,” she says and ruffles Jenny's hair. As she’s wheeling her away, Jenny turns around and waves.

“Bye, Dan. Bye, Leo!”

As they disappear behind the corner, Leonard turns to Dan, hands in his pockets.

“Sweet kid,” he says. He means it; that short encounter somehow improved his mood.

“Yeah, she’s a darlin’,” Dan nods and gets up, “She’s one of the kids from St. Patrick’s. I think–“

Whatever he’s about to say gets interrupted by Leonard’s comm. He flips it open – _shit_.

“Gotta go,” he throws behind his shoulder as he rushes to the elevator. That’s what he gets for taking a lunch break.  
  


* * *

  
It’s nothing unusual in his profession, to want to quit, especially during the resident years. He was never this close to walking out until today.

When Leonard comes home that day, Jocelyn is sitting in the living room. He used to look forward to this part of the day. Nowadays, seeing her waiting up for him to come home only makes him feel guilty.

“Oh, hey,” Joss smiles, “You’re home early.”

He just grunts his hello and heads to the bathroom. He starts stripping down. He showered once in the hospital already but the metallic smell clings to his skin and clothes. When he notices there are still speckles of blood on his undershirt, he throws it on the ground with a bit more force than necessary.

He’s brushing his teeth when Jocelyn appears next to him. She touches his arm.

“Leo? What happened?”

He can see her concerned face in the mirror, the small wrinkle forming between her brows.

His shoulders sag and he lets out a shaking breath. He doesn’t want to talk about it.

It wasn’t his fault. The attending tells him so when she takes him aside after they leave the operating room. She takes a look at the state he’s in and sends him home. It wasn’t anyone’s fault, and that’s the worst part of it all. Accidents happen. People die all the time. It’s not _his_ fault, and he should find it comforting to know he did his best.

Today his best wasn’t enough. It’s not the first exitus of his career but today he’s the one in charge when a patient dies right under his hands. It was an arterial bleeding - blunt force trauma that tore the weakened walls of the abdominal aorta. The blood was _everywhere_ ; he was soaked up to his elbows, trying to stop the bleeding from a wound he couldn’t even see properly. She’s gone before the attending on call even gets there.

The whistling of the heart monitor flatline is still ringing in his ears.

Jocelyn’s voice brings him back to the present.

“Leonard?”

He can’t move or talk for a moment. Then he spits into the sink, washes his hands, and shrugs past her in the doorway.

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

* * *

They sleep on opposite sides of the bed that night. Leonard turns his back to her, wound up and tense, gripping the pillow so tight his fingertips go numb. Every time he closes his eyes, he sees red.


	5. Chapter 5

He doesn't see Jenny again until a few weeks later.

He's still shaken from the incident last month and he finds himself dropping by the pediatric ward every once in a while. It’s a different world up in here – quiet, compared to the always busy Emergency Department, where he sometimes treats so many patients in one day their faces in his head start to blur into one. The air smells different, clean but without the sharp taste of antiseptic. The walls are painted pastel yellow.

There's a bulletin board next to the nurses’ station with the children's drawings. Today there's a new one – a smiling elephant (or at least that’s his best guess) drawn with a blue crayon.

(Is this what burnout feels like?)

Maybe he should have gone to law school like grandpa said.

"Doctor Leo?"

He turns his head to spot her blonde head peeking out from the door on his right.

"Hello, Jenny," he smiles.

It’s one of the smaller, single-bed rooms. The blinds are closed and the lights dimmed to 70%, making the sterile white room actually seem kind of cozy.

It's clear that she's been here for a while. There's a pink knitted blanked draped over the standard hospital sheets and a teddy bear on her pillow. There’s a chair on each side of the bed.

She's not in her bed. She's sitting in the same wheelchair he saw her in the last time, only this time she's wearing a pair of pajama pants and socks – they have little stars on them.

Leonard stands in the doorway awkwardly for a moment, hands in his pockets.

"How you doing?" He asks finally.

"Good," Jenny grins, "Miss P said I might be walking again soon."

Only then Leonard belatedly realizes he has no idea why she's here at all. She's ill, that much is clear, but it seems rude to ask. He can ask Dan later.

"What are you reading?" he says instead.

She looks down at the book in her lap. Not just a book, he corrects himself, a comic book – an old one, made from real paper. He hasn't seen one of those in ages.

Jenny holds it up for him to see.

" _Star Wars_?" he reads, "What's it about?"

Leonard spends his 30-minute lunch break learning about Jedi Knights, Darth Vader, and Luke Skywalker. He leaves the pediatric ward in a better mood than he's been in in months.

* * *

  
The next time he sees Jenny is a week later. Leonard is busy but sometimes he skips his lunch break in favor of stopping by. He likes it here. It's much gentler and happier than the world he lives in.

It's hard to believe he works in the same hospital just a few floors below.

He's off shift today, actually, already in his civil clothes and ready to go home.

It's been – strange, lately, between him and Joce. She seems sad, for some reason. When Leonard asks her what's wrong, he gets the same reply as always: "Nothing, just tired."

(Yesterday he actually came home early enough to find her still awake in the living room. He didn’t bother with taking off his shoes, just headed to the couch. He kissed the top of her head and collapsed next to her. They sat in silence for a while. He struggled to try to come up with something to fill it with.

"How's work?" he tried.

"It's alright," she said. She doesn't lift her eyes from the document on her PADD to look at him.

Leonard realizes he has no idea what's going on in her life.)

It took him a while to notice but she's not waiting up for him anymore.

He's reluctant to head back home today. He keeps finding excuses to stay longer; he finishes all the paperwork he was too lazy to do, cleans his locker and now he's here.

It’s December and there are Christmas decorations hanging around already. Someone put snowflake stickers on the windows, even though they hadn’t seen real snow in Atlanta in years. It’s dark outside. From up here, he has a beautiful view of the city.

He tears his eyes from the window. It’s late; most of the kids must be sleeping. The light is still on in Jenny’s room, though.

She’s in her bed this time, with another book in her lap.

He knocks on the doorframe and her head snaps up.

“Leo!” Jenny beams at him. He feels a smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

“Hey there,” Leonard says, “How are you?”

“I’m great, Dan said I’m doing much better,” she tells him, closing the book in her lap, “And look!”

She throws her legs over the edge of the bed and grabs a pair of crutches propped up against the bedside table. That’s when he notices – the wheelchair is gone.

“Hey, careful there,” he reaches out to steady her but Jenny shakes her head.

“No, no, watch this,” she says and stands up. Leonard holds his breath.

Her skinny arms are shaking from the effort as she holds herself upright. That’s why her legs were so thin, he realizes. She must have not been using them for a while.

Slowly, she puts one foot in front of the other. She wavers for a split second, but then she shifts her weight and takes a step. And another. It looks tiring as if her limbs were too heavy.

“Wow,” Leonard breathes out. Despite the effort, Jenny looks up to grin at him and he has to smile back.

“Cool, right?” she says, sitting back down. “I can’t wait to go outside again.”

Leonard feels those words squeeze around his heart.

“Outside, huh? When’s the last time you’ve been outside?” he asks.

The smile on her face fades a bit. She’s quiet for a while.

“Last year?” she says, “I think.”

Jesus.

“So, you don’t go to school?”

“No,” Jenny shakes her, “Don’t worry, though, I’m studying on my own.”

She’s smiling again as she points to the textbook on the nightstand. Leonard sits down on the bed next to her.

“Really? What are you studying?” he asks.

She hands him the book. He frowns.

“How old are you, kid?”

“Twelve.”

 _Twelve_ – okay, more than he thought but still a bit too young.

“Astrophysics?” he holds the textbook up. Jenny squares her little shoulders.

“I’m going to be a Starfleet captain one day,” she announces.

She says it with such absolute certainty – for a moment, Leonard can believe her.

There’s a knock on the door.

“McCoy?” Dan frowns. He’s in his scrubs, holding a PADD in one hand.

“Yeah, hi,” Leonard says. He knows he has no right to be here, technically, not even during his working hours, much less when he’s off shift. “Just stopping by to say hello,” he adds and hands the book back to Jenny. He gets up.

“Goodnight, Leo,” she says.

He smiles and ruffles her hair. “Night, captain.”

“Working a night shift today?” Leonard asks him when they leave Jenny’s room.

“Yeah, tonight and tomorrow,” Dan nods as they round the corner, “Why are you still here, though? It’s a bit late, even for you.”

“Yeah, well,” he shrugs. They walk in silence. Dan doesn’t push. He probably knows. They all know what it means when you stop looking forward to going home.

They’re walking to the elevator when Dan suddenly stops. Leonard turns to look at him, raising an eyebrow.

“Look, Len,” Dan clears his throat. In the dark hallway, it’s hard to read his expression. “I know you mean well,” he says, “But you probably shouldn’t be spending as much time in here as you do.”

“Wha– _why_?”

“I mean, with Jenny. You shouldn’t…”

“Shouldn’t what, Dan?”

“You shouldn’t get too attached, is what I mean.”

There’s a pause. Dan isn’t looking at him.

“I don’t understand,” Leonard says. Dan sighs and lifts the PADD he’s holding to tap at the screen.

“God, I _really_ shouldn’t be telling you any of this,” he mutters. He shuffles through the files silently for a while. He hands it to Leo without another word.

It’s a patient file – Jenny’s file, to be exact. He blinks against the sharp blue light. As he skims through the page, he feels his heart skip a beat. It’s less of a record and more of a dictionary of all the known medical conditions.

“No,” he looks up from the screen, “No, that doesn’t make any sense, she’s making progress, Dan, she’s –“

He scrolls down but it only keeps getting worse. Every word hurts like a stab in the back.

“I’m so sorry, Len,” Dan whispers. Leonard feels chill run down his spine.

“But…” he shakes his head, “Does she know?”

“Yes.”

“I saw her _walk_ today, how…?”

“How is it possible?” Dan sighs, “I don’t know. And the head of the pediatric ward or the neurology doesn’t either. To be quite honest, she shouldn’t be alive.”

Leonard inhales sharply.

“She’s a miracle, really,” Dan adds, softly, “I don’t know, _maybe_. But just in case – you should be ready for the possibility.”

Leonard opens and closes his mouth. There’s nothing to say to that. He looks back down to the screen and his eyes land on the date of birth. She will be turning thirteen in January. Dan takes the PADD from his slack fingers and reaches out to press the elevator button.

Leonard can’t move. His chest feels too tight. There’s something cold nestled in the bottom of his stomach.

Dan squeezes his shoulder. “Goodnight, Leonard.”

* * *

  
It doesn’t stop him from going. He can’t help but start noticing the way other people walk and talk around Jenny – as if she’s a time bomb, about to go off. Or at least the doctors do; nurses seem to melt around her the same way he does.

He stops by – when he’s had a bad day, during the lunch break, after work. When the holidays roll around, he takes a few days off to visit his family with Jocelyn. They get to spend some time together, talk and laugh and grandma McCoy stuffs them all full of food. Despite the tense silence that has settled over their home back in Atlanta, for a moment everything seems alright.

He wonders what Christmas looks like for kids in the hospital who can’t go home.

(Looking back, that might have been one of his many mistakes; he kept taking his work home and leaving his heart in the hospital.)

* * *

  
The date keeps floating around in his head. It’s not unusual for him to forget what day it is, though. When you’re a doctor, weekends don’t exist and working overnight messes up your perception of time. Today he’s changing out of his scrubs and he happens to check his watch – the ones that Jocelyn gave him for Christmas this year.

It’s the fifteenth of January and it’s Jenny’s birthday. He almost forgot.

He thinks about what Dan told him. He thinks about getting attached. He thinks about the box of his old stuff he took home from his folks’ place.

Dammit. She’s a _kid_ , it’s her birthday and she’s stuck in a hospital. He slams his locker shut and heads home.

* * *

  
He’s out of his scrubs so it’s not much of a surprise when the nurse sitting at the station gets up to stop him.

“Sir, the visiting hours are over, you’ll –“

“I know, it’s okay, I’m a doctor,” McCoy says and fumbles through his pockets to pull out the ID card. He shrugs past her before she can protest any further.

Jenny is sleeping. He’s already raising his hand to knock on the doorframe when he spots her lying in the bed, head lolled to the side. Her hands are resting in her lap as if she fell asleep reading and someone took the book away. The lights are still on. There are three chairs standing next to her bed today, and flowers on the nightstand. Someone tied a bright yellow balloon to the hospital bed frame.

Only then it occurs to him that Leonard has never seen Jenny’s parents. He wonders how hard it has to be for them. It makes his heart ache, seeing her like this, and he’s only known Jenny for a couple of months.

He’s glad to know she hasn’t spent today alone.

He steps closer and the door slides closed behind him. He watches the steady rise and fall of her chest for a moment before he reaches into his bag.

* * *

  
His grandparents had left his room the way it was the day he left for university. He still likes to go up there, every once in a while – he swipes the dust off the shelves and opens the window to let some air in. This Thanksgiving, after dinner, they were sitting with his dad and grandpa Horatio in the living room, when he remembered. He excuses himself and gets up. It’s an old house; it has belonged to the McCoy family for generations. The wooden stairs creak under his weight.

He fumbles looking for the light switch in the dark.

It’s exactly the way he remembers. The sheets are still neatly folded on his bed even though he hasn’t slept in it for – _damn, almost 4 years_. When he sits down, the mattress is still a bit too soft the way it always was. If it weren’t so late and dark outside, he would see the old oak tree in the backyard, the one Leo used to climb when he was a kid – the very one he fell from the summer before his seventh birthday and broke his arm. He went to school with his right hand still sore and healing that year. This accident led to the discovery that he could write with his left one just as well. Being ambidextrous proved to be a very useful skill for a surgeon.

He can hear grandpa’s roaring laugh from downstairs. It feels like home.

Leonard gets up and walks up to the desk on the other side of the room. There’s a thin layer of dust it gathered since the last time he was here. His eyes land on the old holoframe in the corner. Curious, he reaches out to tap at the base and the device lights up.

For a split second he doesn’t even recognize the face he’s looking at. It’s the same face he sees in the mirror every day, but he knows the boy in the picture doesn’t exist anymore. He remembers the day the photo was taken. It was his eighteenth birthday. He’s grinning at his grandpa behind the camera, eyes crinkling in the corners. His arms are each thrown around granny and his pa – Leo was already tall back then, taller than both of them, without having grown into the height quite yet. He was all long limbs, sharp elbows, and wobbly knees. It feels awkward to look at it. It makes Leonard feel old.

He’s about to turn around and leave when something catches his eye.

USS Hermes. It’s sitting there on the bookshelf just where he put it. He takes it in his hand. The toy seems somehow smaller than it used to be. He looks at the crooked letters written with a sharpie on the front deck. He swipes the dust off with his thumb and smiles.

Before they leave the next week, Leonard asks grandma to give him a box and he goes through his old stuff. He takes some books, a pair of sweats from the university that used to be too big but now they fit just right. He takes the holoframe from his desk and after a moment of hesitation, he puts Hermes in there too.

When they come home, he shoves the box under their bed and quickly forgets about it.

* * *

Careful not to wake her he sets USS Hermes down on the bedside table beside the ever-growing pile of books.

He hopes Jenny will like it.


	6. Chapter 6

_2252 Iowa_

  
_Sweetheart, listen to me._

It’s his birthday when Jim hears his father’s voice for the first time. He’s far from sober and well on his way to blackout drunk. He will have one hell of a hangover when he wakes up tomorrow but fuck if he cares right now. He’s long past the point of caring, too drunk to stand up or walk or cry.

_I’m not gonna be there._

On his birthday, Jim usually goes out with the intention to get fucked up and find someone to fuck or fight or, on one memorable occasion, both. He’s not in that kind of mood today. He’s tired, more tired than he has the right to be at nineteen years old. He’s sitting on the floor, the PADD in his lap the only light source in the pitch-black room. Someone is shouting in the apartment above him but that’s nothing unusual. It’s the kind of place where no one asks you any questions and cheap enough for him to pay the rent.

He’s numb all over. He lifts the bottle to his lips and takes a swig. It drips down his chin and onto his shirt.

_A boy?_

The audio quality is shit; the recording is full of static. The signal was being jammed by, what Jim’s best guess is, was flying debris of the ship and the electromagnetic storm around it.

_What are we gonna call him?_

Mum never kept any holos. At first, it was probably just straight up too painful to look at, and later, well, you don’t really put up pictures of your dead husband in another man’s house, do you?

 _“Tiberius”, are you kidding me? No, that’s the worst_.

Jim huffs out a humorless laugh. Yeah, my thoughts exactly.

_Let’s name him after your dad, huh? Let’s call him Jim._

Well, thanks, dad, Jim thinks and lifts the bottle to toast a dead man. He barely feels the burn as it goes down.

_Sweetheart, can you hear me?_

There’s an urgency to his voice that hasn’t been there before. Jim closes his eyes.

_I can hear you…_

_I love you so much._

_George?_

_I love you._

Static.

The recording ends and that’s it. That’s all that’s left of George Kirk. Well, this – and Jim.

When he was a kid, he never understood why mum cries on his birthday, not until Sam told him years later.

Sam remembers dad. Not that well, probably, but he has _something_ – something to hold onto. That might be one of the many reasons why he couldn’t stand Frank, whom their mum married only as an excuse to leave.

It’s much later when Jim realizes why, only when he finally finds a picture of his dad, in a Federation history textbook, of all places. Then he knows, with sudden terrifying clarity, why his own mother couldn’t stand to look at him. As he hears his own first cry, echoing back from the past, he understands.

It must have seemed an unfair trade, her husband for a child.

Jim knows he’s cursed. _Cursed_ , from the beginning, from the very moment he was born, three months too early and too small to keep breathing on his own. He shouldn’t have lived. Not back then, not on Tarsus.

Maybe that’s the reason he feels so out of place. An error on the universe’s part. Maybe in another world, Jim Kirk grew up with both parents and Sam never left. Somewhere else they call him James, not Jim, he never left Iowa and Tarsus never happened. Maybe there’s a universe where he doesn’t wake up screaming every night.

Jim decides he hates that lucky son of a bitch.


	7. Chapter 7

_Georgia, 2253_

There’s an influenza epidemic taking out the ER staff one by one and Leonard is working double shifts to cover for his colleagues. When he gets home it’s only to catch his miserable four hours of sleep, have a quick shower and then he’s on the run again. Joss is mad at him for some reason and when they talk nowadays, it’s usually just to argue.

He hasn't seen Jenny in a while.

It’s a little blonde girl he’s treating for a twisted ankle that reminds him of the fact today. The moment Leonard sees her sitting on the examination table, his heart skips a beat. She looks just like her, he thinks at first – but at a second look, he realizes that no, she’s a little bit too young. Her hair is the same pale blonde but there’s a healthy blush on her chubby cheeks and her eyes are green, not blue.

He hasn’t talked to Dan recently either, he thinks on his way upstairs later that day. He blames it on the increased workload for both of them – most days, they can’t afford to take the lunch break they usually would.

McCoy steps out of the elevator. He rounds the corner and passes by a pair of nurses chatting next to the coffee machine. As the glass door to the inpatient ward slides open, he actually feels himself relax a little. He wonders if it’s too late to change his specialization.

For a moment he thinks he walked into a wrong room. It’s completely vacant, the bed empty with only a pile of sheets folded neatly on the mattress. There are no books on the bedside table. Even the star stickers he helped Jenny put on the window are gone.

He checks the room number – no, he’s in the right place. He takes a deep breath and looks around the hallway. He tries his best not to panic. It doesn’t have to mean anything; they move rooms around here all the time.

_(Right?)_

He goes looking for Dan.

The nurse at the station gives him a strange look but sends him to the doctors’ room. Leonard stops in front of the door to school his expression into what’s his best attempt at calm. Only when he reaches for the door lock keyboard, he realizes – he doesn’t know the code. He lifts his hand and knocks instead.

There’s no reply.

His palms are sweating. He knocks again, with a little bit more force than strictly necessary.

“ _Coming!_ ” someone shouts from the other side.

The door slides open.

It’s one of the other Pediatrics residents – Dr. Njeri, according to the name tag on her chest. She leans against the doorframe with one hand, a plastic cup in the other. She looks about as tired as he feels. She seems surprised to see him there.

“Oh, hi.”

“Hey,” Leonard greets her, “Is Dan here?”

“Yeah, he is, hold on – “

Njeri turns her head away from him and shouts: “Palmer!”

There’s a pause and rustling of sheets.

_“What is it?”_

“Someone came to see you.”

Dan sighs and groans. Dr. Njeri disappears inside again, only for Dan to take her place a moment later when he slowly shuffles to the door. He’s blinking a lot, the way you do when trying very hard not to fall asleep. There are pillow marks on his face.

“McCoy?” Dan frowns, scratching his neck.

“Hi,” Leonard says, “I, uh… I was to Jenny’s room but I found it empty and wanted to ask, you know -”

The expression on Dan’s face freezes. It’s only a second before he composes himself again, but still – long enough for Leonard to know there’s something terribly, _terribly_ wrong.

“Let’s –” Dan clears his throat, “Let’s go for a walk.”

* * *

He keeps it together just long enough to find the closest staff bathroom. Once the door slides shut behind him, he leans back against it and reaches for the lock. He takes a deep breath. His chest feels too tight.

They say doctors are the worst patients and he finds this to be true. When there is bad news to deliver, he’s usually the one to tell them. There’s no right way to do it, no step-by-step guide to follow. He tries his best.

Be humane, they tell them in medical school. Be humane, be kind, be gentle, but don’t get too close. Be brief, be objective. Your patients need a doctor, not a friend to weep beside them. Don’t cross that line.

(Leonard is bad with lines.

He’s never learned to detach himself from his work. He’s never learned to forget that the body on his table is a human being – someone’s friend, someone’s child, someone’s parent. He suspects he never will.)

He’s been on the other side of this conversation too many times to be fooled. The hand on his shoulder, the pity in his colleague’s eyes – they feel like a stab in the back before Dan even opens his mouth.

He tries to break the news to him in the gentlest way possible. McCoy does his best to stay calm. From the look Dan gives him, he knows he’s not fooling anyone. For a moment, he can’t move or speak. He nods and when he turns around to leave, Dan doesn’t try to stop him.

Once in the bathroom, his legs give in. Still leaning against the door, he slides down onto the floor. He’s shaking all over and feels his limbs go numb and cold. His breath is coming out in short, shallow huffs.

He doesn’t cry often. Ever since he stopped crying for his ma, tears came sparse and when they did, he preferred to keep it to himself. Even when Jocelyn lost her child and he held her as she wept, his own eyes stayed firmly shut. He waited ‘till she stopped and fell asleep that night - only then he let himself fall apart, shaking quietly in the bed next to her.

His vision blurs. He bites into his hand to keep quiet.

* * *

  
Bad things happen and when they do, they never come alone.

He’s talking to the trauma attending to consult his latest patient. (Male, 38, chemical burn victim, lying in the ICU in an induced coma while the dermal regenerators repair his skin.) He feels the comm in his uniform pocket buzz and politely excuses himself.

It’s Gram. Leonard frowns – he called her just a couple of days ago. He always checks up on his family every few weeks, asks how they’re doing, tells them the usual – _Yeah, Joce is doing alright_ – _I’ll tell her you said hello_ , and _no, we’d love to visit but I’m busy this week, maybe next month_. She never calls him during the day, especially not this early in the morning.

McCoy knows something is wrong the moment he answers the comm.

“Hello?”

There’s a pause. He hears granny’s shaking breath.

“Gram? What is it?”

“Leo, you should come to see us this week,” she says. Her voice sounds tight and tense, the way it is when she’s trying not to cry. “It’s about your dad.”

* * *

  
**Xenopolycythemia**

Xenopolycythemia (also known as _xenopolycythaemia_ or _xenoerythrocytosis_ ) is a rare blood-related disease in humans and several other humanoid species. It is characterized by an elevated hematocrit and/or hemoglobin concentration in peripheral blood. This state is usually a result of increased uncontrolled hematopoietic stem cell proliferation during which a large number of red blood cells is produced [1]. The overproduction of erythrocytes can be a result of a myeloproliferative syndrome[1] or, rarely, malignancy [3]. The exact cause of xenopolycythemia remains unknown.

If detected early on, spleen removal can prolong the patient’s life up to 18 months[2]. Left untreated, the usual expected lifespan of a person with xenopolycythemia is one year.[3]

As of 2253.1, there is no known cure.

  
_ Read more >>> _

* * *

It all started with a headache. That’s what they tell Leonard when he gets there. As those headaches became worse and more frequent, his dad began to feel dizzy and nauseous. He blamed it on the stress from work, like he always would. At sixty-one, Leonard’s father was still practicing and didn’t intend to retire anytime soon. When he started having a hard time with the stairs, he joked about getting old.

In February, he has a stroke. They rush him to the hospital, remove the blood clot, and despite his protests, they keep him there for observation. They get his blood work done and find out that his red blood cell count is three times higher than it should be.

There are more tests to be done to be absolutely certain, but Leonard is a doctor and so is his grandfather. They don’t need to see the results to know the diagnosis.

During the next six months, Leonard’s father loses over 20 pounds. Even before, David McCoy was always on the smaller side. In many ways, he took after his mother, Leonard’s grandmother, including her petite frame. He had her bright blue eyes, her gentle hands, and just like her, he started going grey at barely 35. With age, his eyes began to wrinkle in the corners just like hers when he laughed.

He doesn’t laugh much these days.

The pain medication makes him tired, and he sleeps through most of the day. In August, grandma is no longer able to take care of him and they move him to the hospital. The next stroke leaves him with his left side paralyzed.

As the days get shorter and colder, they all know the time is running low. David McCoy asks to be discharged from the hospital. _I spent the last 40 years there_ , _Leo_ , he says _, I don’t want it to be the last thing I see._

They move him home, along with the life support equipment that keeps him alive. They hire a nurse to take care of him. The pain keeps getting worse. Eventually, it overwhelms even the high dose of painkillers. The doctors refuse to prescribe him a stronger one, arguing that had he taken a dose any higher, he might not wake up at all.

Leonard has to admit they’re right. He visits as often as he can.

* * *

“ _No_.”

Leonard is on his feet before he even realizes he’s standing up. For a moment he just stares at his dad with speechless horror on his face.

“Absolutely not,” he says, a little breathless. He shakes his head.

His father doesn’t say anything. He’s tired, it’s written all over his body – it’s like he’s aged half a century in the past year alone. He looks at Leo with pity.

When the shock falls off, the horror turns into anger. Leonard starts pacing around the room, hands curled into fists. He has to move, to keep himself from lashing out.

“You can’t be serious,” he says, “How can you even ask me for something like that? Dad, I’m a doctor – hell, _you’re_ a doctor, you took the –“

“Leo.”

Leonard stops mid-sentence, hands in the air, and turns around to look at him. Just as quickly as it came, the anger dissipates. He lowers his hands. He takes it all in – the deep purple circles around his eyes, the ugly dark spots covering his arms and face. It’s painful to look at. Leonard had seen patients in a far worse state. He’s treated severed limbs, open fractures, missing fingers, broken spines – you name it. The truth is, nothing could ever make him ready for this. He feels sick to his stomach.

“Leo, I’m –” his father starts and it turns into a cough. Leonard is at his bedside in an instant – he helps him sit up and hands him a glass of water from the nightstand. With the hand on his father’s back, he feels the ridges of his pine pressing into his palm.

The coughing seems to go away. Leonard takes the cup from him.

“I’m sorry,” his dad says.

He pauses for a moment to look up at his son.

“I’m so sorry, Leo,” he repeats.

Leonard can’t speak. His throat tightens. He can’t breathe, it’s too much, he has to – he has to _leave_ , now. Without another word, he heads for the door.

* * *

Jocelyn seems to go out of her way to avoid him these days. They don’t argue anymore. She stopped yelling at him and settled for being quiet instead. It’s that cold, angry silence of hers, and it’s somehow even worse.

When he gets there, McCoy is relieved to find out she’s not home tonight. He isn’t in a state when he could handle her, on top of everything else. He considered not coming back at all today, finding a bar or crashing in the backseat of his car.

He doesn’t bother with taking off his shoes and heads into his study instead. There’s a cabinet behind his work desk where he keeps the alcohol. He grabs the whiskey Ian gave him for his birthday last year and locks the door.

He can’t be sober tonight. He’s going to get drunk, so drunk he can’t talk or think. He wants to drink ‘till he can’t remember his own name, ‘till he forgets the look on his father’s face when he begged Leonard to end his life.

He unscrews the bottle cap and takes a swig.


	8. Chapter 8

He keeps going to work every day, mostly because he has to and also because there’s nowhere else to go. The patients keep him busy; he can focus on other people’s problems and doesn’t think about his own. When he’s Dr. McCoy, he doesn’t have to be Leonard. When he’s putting on the scrubs, he’s putting down everything else – his drinking, his father’s illness, the disaster his marriage has turned into.

It keeps him sane and sober.

It’s past midnight. He’s leaning against a wall, eyes closed, and he’s listening to the sound of Atlanta General at night. There’s a quiet chatter coming from the nurses’ station, interrupted by the beeping of life support machines. An emergency transport is landing on the roof.

He planned on staying overnight and sleeping on a couch in the on-call room. This plan was canceled by his boss who saw Leonard in the mess this afternoon, still wearing the same wrinkled uniform from yesterday, and pulled him aside.

“My shift ends in two hours, Dr. McCoy,” she says, “I’m going home and when I come back tomorrow, I don’t want to see your face in here until after lunch, alright?”

He keeps looking for excuses to stay longer and when he can’t find any, he goes wandering the hallways. He’s tired. It’s the bone-deep kind of tired that no amount of sleep can fix. The stimulant hypo he gave himself this morning is starting to wear off.

McCoy checks his chrono – it’s 01:07. He heads to the changing rooms. As he walks the dim-lit empty hallways, he passes by the ICU. Before he can stop himself, he’s rounding the corner on autopilot to check his patient one last time.

She’s almost 120 years old. Her heart stopped twice in the past three months and it left her bedbound, with a tube down her throat and three IV’s in her thin, veiny arms.

The thing about death not many people realize, McCoy thinks, is that it’s not by far the worst thing that can happen to you. Death itself is peaceful, compared with the struggle of living. Being alive means, first and foremost, hurting. It’s ugly and painful and messy, from the very moment you are born, screaming and covered in blood and shit.

He’s familiar with pain.

He’s gotten to learn all about pain, in intimate detail. He’s got a first-row ticket to see just how much the human body can take without breaking and the answer is – quite a lot. It’s ugly and painful to look at, the state he’s seen people in, still clinging to life.

Did you know you might have to break some ribs to give a good CPR? McCoy is horrified to learn this in medical school and it’s even worse when he has to do it himself, the first couple of times. By now, he’s grown familiar with the sickening crack of bones under his hands. At that point, the person would be unconscious anyway, and a few broken ribs are nothing compared to the brain damage you’re left with when your heart stops pumping blood into your head. They have people like that in here too, in a coma or completely brain-dead, kept alive even though they’re already gone.

You can’t beat death. You can try to hold it off, you say _not today_ and sometimes it _does_ listen, but the only certainty in life is that one day it comes for every single one of us. There’s not much equality in life, McCoy finds out, but in death, everyone is equal. Men, women, everything in between or neither, old, young, doctors, admirals, politicians – they all end up here, in the same hospital bed. Some of them fight ‘till the very end, gasping for their last breath, clinging to life by the fingertips; some of them go peacefully, either at night or simply closing their eyes as if falling asleep. Leonard has to admit there is a dignity to that (if there can be such a thing as dignity in death).

McCoy looks at the old lady in her biobed. As he’s watching the steady rise and fall of her chest, he thinks about his dad and makes a decision. 

* * *

He delivers the medicine and calculates the dose. He loads the hypo and sets it down on the bedside table within an easy reach. His hands never once shake. He knows his dad would prefer to do it himself.

He seems to be fast asleep. He looks exhausted, even now. The painkillers make him drowsy and he sleeps through most of the day. Leonard is sort of grateful for that since his waking hours usually bring a lot of pain.

He wants to be selfish and wake him up. He wants to say something, anything – but the words just don’t come. There are no right words for this or at least he never finds them.

Leonard looks at his dad. He doesn’t even resemble himself anymore. This illness quite literally ate him alive, digesting muscle and fat, and spat out what’s left – bones underneath thin, paper-like skin covered with ugly red spots.

The sight fills him with desperate, stone-cold rage. He hasn’t grown up in a religious household the way his father had. He doesn’t believe in God, most people don’t nowadays, not even here in the South. And still –

 _If there is a God_ , Leonard thinks, _He will have to beg my forgiveness._

Careful not to wake him up, McCoy reaches out to take his father’s hand. With the other one, he smoothes down the sleep-tousled hair and leans down to press a kiss onto his forehead.

He wants to remember David McCoy the way he used to be. He knows his dad would want it that way.

Before he can talk himself out of this, he straightens up and turns around. He opens the door and doesn’t look back.

After all, people die all the time. 

_You can’t stop it_ , his father told him once. _All you can do is try to soften the blow_.

* * *

McCoy gets home to find a pillow with a blanket on the couch.

He goes looking for a bar.

* * *

_"What are you doing there?"_

_"I am drinking," replied the drunkard._

_"Why are you drinking?" demanded the little prince._

_"So that I may forget."_

_"Forget what?"_

_"Forget that I am ashamed."_   
  
  


* * *

_Georgia, 2255_

Jocelyn doesn’t come with him to the funeral. Despite everything they have done to each other, she still looks at him with pity when he tells her his father is gone. McCoy himself hears the news from his Gram. She calls him in the middle of the night to tell him between her sobs his pa overdosed himself on painkillers.

They bury David McCoy next to his wife at the Greenwood Cemetery. It’s January again; almost exactly 22 years ago, McCoy stood in the exact same place, watching them lower his ma into her grave. (His father never actually talked about it but he missed her dearly, every single day. He would come here every other month, bring her flowers and sweep the dust and leaves off her gravestone. Now it would be Leonard, doing the same for both of them.)

It’s snowing for the first time in years. It’s falling gently onto his shoulders and into his hair, white over black, mirror to the dark brown earth staining the new-fallen snow.

He always knew this day would come but not so soon. He hadn’t expected his grandparents to be standing by his side.

He doesn’t expect so many people to show up either. Turns out, David McCoy was loved and would be missed by many. There’s their family, of course, his grandparents and uncle Dan, holding his wife’s hand. There’s Fatima, the nurse from his dad’s pediatrician’s office. The neighbors next door. There are his father’s friends and colleagues, some of whom had known Leonard ever since he was a little boy.

McCoy tunes out most of what is being said. The world feels a little surreal right now. He’s numb all over as if he’s watching the whole thing from afar. He doesn’t move when the others start to leave. People stop by to offer their condolences, he nods and shakes their hands, but his heart isn’t really in it. Their faces all blur into one.

Only once everybody else is gone, Leonard’s grandfather turns around. He walks up to him and stops to look McCoy in the eye, face just inches from his. They’re very much alike, the two of them, both tall and broad-shouldered. Even at eighty-five, Horatio McCoy is standing straight and proud. His head is now completely gray but he used to have the same dark hair his grandson had now.

His eyes are wet but he’s too proud to cry. There’s something else, though, boiling just beneath the surface of his grief and threatening to spill over the edge. He blinks and works his jaw for a moment before opening his mouth. His voice trembles with barely contained rage.

“Your grandmother doesn’t know, Leonard,” he says, slowly and dangerously quiet, “And I will make sure it stays that way.”

He’s standing very close. Leonard can feel his warm breath on his cheek as he speaks.

“That doesn’t change what you did,” his grandfather says. 

He clears his throat and blinks.

“You’re no longer welcome in our house. If there’s anything you left there you want to keep, you have today. After the service, I don’t want to see you there ever again.”

He pauses and looks away. Leonard can’t move. 

“I am ashamed of you,” his grandfather says and turns to leave.


	9. Chapter 9

Jocelyn asks for a divorce not so long afterward. 

“You sure you really wan’ this?” he asks. She doesn’t reply. McCoy nods and signs the papers. She takes the PADD and leaves without ever looking back. He watches her go and doesn’t feel anything at all. 

Regret always comes later to him, like the pain from an injury once the shock subsides. 

In the court, she strips him of everything he has and McCoy lets her. He lets her take whatever she wants. It’s the least he can do since he can’t give back the years he’s robbed her of. She takes the flat, she takes the car, and McCoy has never been so grateful they never had a child.

He’s lost his job a few weeks ago; there's only so many times you can turn up drunk at work, even if you’re the best damn surgery resident in your ward. 

Jocelyn oh so _graciously_ allows him to go back to their apartment to take a bag of things he wants to keep. He takes some clothes and some books, his medkit, a PADD, and after a moment of hesitation, he takes the old holoframe from his folks’ place too. 

He keeps the ring. For him, it’s a promise he’d made – he would always love her, and he would always want what’s best for her, even if it wasn’t him. He keeps it on his left little finger. It hurts to look at it and it serves him well. 

(Jocelyn doesn’t wear hers. She hasn’t been wearing it for a while already, but he was always either too tired or too drunk to notice.)

Once he doesn’t have to keep his mind sharp and hands steady, nothing is holding him back from drinking all day long. 

And that’s pretty much all he does now. 

The days go by in a drunken blurry haze. He’s got nowhere else to go, now that his ex-wife kicked him out and his family doesn’t talk to him. He sleeps on the train, on a bus stop, in an alley behind a bar when he’s too drunk to get up and find someplace else to crash for the night. 

He’s not sure where he is half the time. Every few weeks he sobers up enough to read the road signs and check the date. The last time he checked he was in Ohio. 

He falls asleep in a train bathroom and it takes the conductors a few hours to find him and kick him out. Once the train stops, they push him out the door, and he goes, followed by his duffel bag that hits him in the back. 

McCoy grabs it and straightens up. He stumbles off the train platform, cursing like a sailor. His ma must be turning in her grave. He squints at the station nameplate overhead. 

This time it’s Iowa. Fucking _Iowa_ , of all places. 

McCoy stretches his neck and thinks. His back hurts like hell. He must smell like shit – he doesn't recall the last time he ate, much less washed himself. He decides it's time he sleeps in a real bed tonight. 

He’s lucky he isn’t short on money. 

He finds a motel to spend the night in. He takes a shower, a real shower with water and soap. The bathroom is small, so small he has to crouch down to wash his head. He dries his hair and combs it to the side the way he used to do. It makes him look more like himself, McCoy muses when he looks into the mirror. He’s in desperate need of a haircut. He tilts his head and scratches his jaw. He hasn’t shaved in a while either. 

The longer he keeps looking at the sad miserable asshole in the mirror, the more he starts to recognize himself. 

He ends up sitting in a bar two blocks down the street. It might be a little bit too classy for him nowadays. He’s grown to prefer places where no one asks you any questions and no one looks at you twice. (Unfortunately, those also usually tend to be the places you get HPV from the toilet seat.) 

McCoy leans against the counter and gestures to the bartender. 

He’d say he’s still somehow sober so far tonight, but to be completely honest, that might be an overstatement. He’s pretty sure he hasn’t really stopped drinking since his pa’s funeral. 

He finds himself a quiet corner booth to hide in. 

It must be Friday night; the dance floor is crowded, swarmed by a mass of sweaty, hormonal teenagers bouncing in the rhythm of the music. The lights are dimmed just right to make you relax. It makes the world feel softer, the edges less sharp. McCoy leans back and sips his bourbon. He closes his eyes, letting the noise drown out his thoughts. 

There’s a pause between songs. He opens his eyes to watch the crowd. 

They’re all so young, so painfully young, and full of careless energy. It makes him feel old. Isn’t that just pathetic? He’s 27, looks 35, and feels as if he were at least 60. 

Actually, it’s 28, he realizes. It’s September. He would be turning 28 this month. _Fuck_. 

McCoy throws back his drink and gets up to get another.

He slouches down onto one of the barstools. As he’s leaning against the bar, something catches his attention. He turns around.

It’s a girl. An Orion. 

She's dancing like she’s the devil, hands in the air, hips swaying in the rhythm. 

Damn it, if she ain’t the prettiest girl in here tonight. 

It’s the hair that caught his attention, though – curly, bright red, just like fire. He’s never seen an Orion like that; the gene not being common (or present) on their planet, most Orions had black or dark brown hair. 

It’s quite a sight to behold. She throws her head back, and her hair parts, exposing her neck. The green skin shines with sweat, in bright contrast to the red blouse she’s wearing. 

Not a blouse, he realizes – a uniform. Starfleet Academy uniform. She’s a cadet. 

And she’s not alone here, either. There’s a whole group of them in the bar tonight, scattered through the crowd, all clad in those stupid red jackets and spit-shined shoes. It looks like they’re celebrating what must be their last night before shipping out. 

He smirks bitterly and raises the glass to his lips. _Fuckin’ Starfleet._

The memory hits him like a train.

_I’m going to be a Starfleet captain one day._

McCoy lets out a shaking breath. 

It feels like a lifetime ago. It might as well have been. He’s not really sure what happened to that guy who sat there with Jenny that night. 

He watches the cadet girl dance and laugh, and he thinks – it should have been her. 

It should have been her; it should have been Jenny dancing here tonight. 

He tries to imagine her in that red uniform, all grown up, but his mind comes up blank. Jenny will never get the chance to grow up. She never gets to see the stars. The world will never get a chance to marvel at the people she could have grown to be. 

It only makes him feel worse. 

He gets to live when she doesn’t, just to be spending his last money drinking himself to an early grave. It’s not the first time for him to wish he could make the trade, his life for hers. Nowhere to go, no one who cares, too drunk to even stand up half the time, he admits he’s been thinking about ending it all. 

He thinks about Jenny and he thinks about his life. 

_Alright, kid. Let’s give it a go._

Before he can talk himself out of it, he gets up, pays for his half-finished drink, and leaves. 

* * *

It’s their last night in Iowa. They’re shipping out for San Francisco first thing tomorrow, three shuttles with 50 new recruits. It’s less than Pike would like but more than he’d expect. They pick a bar closest to the shipyard and opt for a smaller room upstairs rather than the crowded one below. 

Most captains in the ‘fleet wouldn’t let themselves be caught dead in a place like this. Men his age and rank usually go for the classy places closer to the city center, the kind where you go to be seen and to talk to other important people. Pike finds them all hopelessly boring. 

It’s a quiet evening. He’s actually thinking about turning in for the night when the comm in his pocket chimes. 

He pulls it out and flips it open. It’s Lieutenant Federova – he'd sent her downstairs earlier this evening, to watch the cadets and let him know if someone gets too rowdy.

“Pike here.”

“Captain, a group of cadets got into a fight. It’s getting ugly; you might want to break it up.” 

Pike sighs and gets up. 

“On my way.” 

He takes the stairs and shoulders his way through the crowd. As he’s getting closer to the main room, people start moving aside to let him through. There’s a sound of breaking glass and the music stops. 

“Guys, he’s had enough!” someone yells. 

Pike gets there just in time to watch them finish up. There’s a guy lying on the floor. One of the cadets grabs him by the collar and hauls him onto a nearby table. 

_For fuck’s sake._

Pike lifts a hand to his mouth. 

It’s loud and it works. All the eyes in the room snap to him, including cadet Hanlon, just as he’s raising his fist in the air. He looks up and his face goes pale. He drops the man onto the table with a thud. 

No one moves. 

Pike takes a step closer. He looks at the poor bastard the cadets were beating up just a moment ago. He hasn’t moved to stand up yet – he’s still lying sprawled on the bar table with his head upside down, hanging over the edge. 

The moment he opens his eyes, Pike stops short. He’s seen those eyes before. 

He looks back up to survey the room. 

"Out, all of you," Pike bites out. 

They all rush to the exit. From the way cadet Hitchcock limps past him, Pike can tell the kid on the table gave as good as he got. A group of locals brushes past him on their way out, broken glass crunching under their feet.

Pike leans in to get a better look, tilting his head to the side. God, it really _is_ him, isn't it? 

_What the hell are you doing here, Jim?_

"You alright, son?" he asks.

"You can whistle _really loud_ , you know," Kirk slurs.

He tries to sit up. As he shifts his weight, the table tilts and Jim slides down onto the floor. He curses. Pike reaches out to help him up but Jim shakes his head. He groans and stands up. 

He's taller. You would hardly recognize him; he's nothing like the skinny boy that Pike remembers. 

Damn it, if he doesn't look just like George. 

Pike motions to the bartender. Behind him, Jim Kirk collapses into the closest chair. 

“Give him a drink, would you,” Pike says, “Put it on my tab.” 

He leaves to go back upstairs and grab his PADD. There’s something he needs to check. 

* * *

Jim Kirk doesn't seem to remember him. If he does, he doesn’t act like he cares. 

It's hard to tell what he's thinking. He talks and moves with a fake swagger but it falls kind of flat, like he’s too tired to try. He seems tired, more tired than someone this young should be. 

Pike looks at him and has no idea what's going on behind those eyes. 

"I couldn't believe it when the bartender told me who you are."

Jim doesn't bother to look at him. The blood from his nose has dripped down his chin and onto his shirt. It's smeared all over his face and dried into a dark brown crust. He still has some dust and pieces of glass left in his hair from when they threw him on the floor. 

"And who am I, captain Pike," he says. 

Pike takes a moment to think about it. Who _is_ he, really? 

"Your father's son." 

* * *

The lady in the recruitment center office doesn’t believe him he’s an actual doctor. To be fair, McCoy has to admit, he finds it hard to believe it himself these days. 

They must be way down on their recruitment quota for the month because they take him, no questions asked. Half an hour later, he stumbles out on the street with a one-way ticket to San Francisco on his PADD. Riverside shipyard, the officer tells him, shuttle for new recruits leaves tomorrow, 08:00.

But that was more than 8 hours ago. _Yesterday_ , McCoy thinks, this seemed a much better idea than it does now. He would like to think he was drunk when he made that decision. Since he’s sober for the first time in months, the only explanation left for this is that he’s finally gone insane. 

Somehow he still ends up standing in the shuttle bay. 

He looks up to watch the ships flying overhead and feels his stomach drop. He shuts himself in a public bathroom and tries to breathe through an upcoming panic attack. He feels his face and fingers going numb, the way they always do.

He ruffles through the medkit in his bag. You never really stop being a doctor. You still meet reckless kids with scraped knees, you still get up when someone asks “Is there a doctor here?”, and you still refuse to go anywhere without one of these. 

He gives himself a hypo with anxiolytics. He’s lucky he’s sober enough to take one. He squares his shoulder, takes a deep breath, and opens the door. He must have been there for a while. In the meantime, the sun has risen, and it hits him like a bullet in the head. He walks through the shipyard, looking for the right dock. 

He feels like he’s sleepwalking. The hypo is starting to kick in. He notices a crowd of red uniforms and freezes.

Space. Final fucking frontier. 

There’s a group of cadets standing in a row next to the craft. McCoy gets in line. He grips the strap of his duffel bag a little tighter. He’s not even hungover and it still feels like he’s been out drinking all night. He feels like throwing up. 

The queue slowly shuffles forward. McCoy thinks about turning around and leaving. There was a reason for doing this, he’s sure, but right now, he couldn’t for the love of him remember what it could have been. 

“Your name?” the officer at the door asks him.

He eyes the shuttlecraft like it’s a wild animal. 

_Dammit._

“McCoy. Leonard McCoy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> / the end /
> 
> Thanks for reading and leaving kudos! 
> 
> I apologize for the delay with the last chapter. I'm busy getting ready for my own medical school entry exams. Wish me luck! 
> 
> You can follow me on tumblr (@mxchaelangelo).
> 
> There might be an academy era sequel to this one if I happen to have the time to put it on paper.


End file.
